


Meetings

by hauntedpoem



Series: Stories from the fairy's house [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dreams, Fairies, Forest Spirits, Gen, M/M, Maedhros is driven crazy, Mentions of Slash, Parallel Universes, past slash, tom bombadil's hospitality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:31:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Maedhros lives in dreams of Fingon but an explanation is needed.





	Meetings

Last night he dreamed of Fingon, his Findekano. He cannot shell peas and relive the same thing repeatedly. He grunts in displeasure. Even with two hands, this is drudgery and he will grow to despise it. He fears that he’ll grow to despise her.

Then follow the almonds, which he cracks with a small stone, just applying pressure to their protective wood. Findekano said he loved him, perhaps an age ago and they were both young and foolish in the comfort of Valinor. He used to sneak away from their home, right under Feanaro’s nose and ride half of the night to reach old, stuffy Tirion only to throw pebbles at his window. He climbed to his cousin’s bedroom and wild-haired and dishevelled he would drag him towards his body still warm from sleep. Pliant, he was, and very gentle, encouraging and never complaining. How could he? How could he think he never loved him? Now Maitimo chastises himself for this lack of faith. He loved him unto death. He loved him enough to follow him to that cursed peak and he loved him enough to maim him and set him free. Beloved.

His fingers stop for a while on the green husks and in the power of his phantasm he crushes them. Mindless work. Gathering wood, sorting wool, knitting, polishing bone and metal and carving, listening to the trees and their never-ending woes. He wants his Findekano back.

She sits in a corner combing through grey, scraggly wool, and reminds Maitimo of a frog. Green-elf. She is weathered by the sun and small. Easy to take on. An image flashes through his mind. He could easily immobilise her, take his sword and leave. And then what? Where would he leave? The children are both grown. Makalaure took good care of them, loved them as his own, why come back and ruin that for him again? But his brother is in torment. He knows it, though he cannot feel it.

He is closer to the dead where he’s at than to the living.

He thinks of Findekano most of the day. He wears the memories like a cloak all through the season. It’s mindless work, mindless work and then some more. Sorting leaves for tea. Asking the trees whether they are willing to shed their fruit and flower. Taking stones from the river to build a fence, so that the squirrels can climb when the snow reaches his knees.

It’s a mystery this place. He takes his sword twice a month to polish it and oil it. Useless. Here are no orcs and if he wishes to pass through the glade and cross the river, he discovers he’s back where he came from. Magic, sorcery. Findekano.

What did his father think of when he gave his cousin that name? He misses him more and more each day but at night, he succumbs to dreams, having no clue that there is where he’ll find him and they’ll continue where they left from.

It is disturbing, in a way but he could live like this forever. Forever seems too long, though. It is an imitation of what he had and slowly but certainly, he grows impatient, erratic, violent. She hums a song and Maedhros almost remembers it. Almost.

“What is it that you sing?” And when she smirks at him toothily, he becomes angered. It is unlike him but he’s sick of this uncertainty. “I know you understand me!” He yells now. “I know you do! Answer me!”

He shouts and she laughs and when his anger peaks like nothing she’s ever witnessed, she cowers into a corner, her arms curled around her face in a submissive gesture.

“I am going to skin you alive, you…” She sniffles. And cries. Not unlike a child. But this time it is not enough to shield him from continuing his plan.

“Listen to me, creature!” Maedhros does not want to cause her unnecessary pain, just enough for cooperation. She looks up and on her face, he can read that she doesn’t understand. She sniffles and wails. Slightly reminds him of baby Carnistir who would bite their mother as she tried to feed him then cry for more milk.

Her eyes are alarmingly unfocused. She doesn't understand, perhaps, anything at all. Maedhros can tell that she’s engulfed by the same dumb state that beasts are when under duress. The only thing on her silly mind is to escape. She latches on his arm and bites.

“Stupid!”

He hit her with the wooden pail that happened to be there. Surprisingly resilient, this one.

“Damned beast!” He’ll tie her if he must. It’s for her own good and it’s quite sad to watch her try and chew through the rope. All he wants are answers. This, he cannot endure anymore.

No answers from this one. “Calm down, stupid!” She was about to go somewhere today. Lull him to sleep with one of her crazy ditties and he would dream of Fingon again but when he would wake, another day would have passed and his mind would be quagmire.

He must have ingested the sleeping draught as food. She would bring every evening a bowl of her soups. Green-yellow mush of roots and berries, crushed leaves and seeds. No meat, never. In fact, he’s never seen her consume anything animal at all. And where did she get the wool? And the tools for the carving? And the dies, and the beads?

He tied her up like one would a restive animal and exited the cabin, dragging her behind him.

“Show me.”

After a while, when she discovered that bruising her knees and her fingers wouldn’t do, she complied. Begrudgingly.

They reached the river and only then, did she begin humming her song again. For the first time in months, he could cross.

She walked tall now as if having nothing to lose anyway and they reached a glade. Beautiful and peaceful, it was. And full of birdsong and the humming of bees.

“There you are,” said a voice from the shrubbery. Slowly, a pointy hat appeared and Maedhros came face to face with a bearded old man, wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen. “Oh, but release her. Dragonfly!” He said in a sing-song voice.

Maedhros could not believe his eyes.

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

“Iarwain Ben-adar your kind calls me. But I have many names.” His eyes were sparkling with mischief. He came close to her, called her dragonfly once more and with a touch of his hand, the bonds fell about her. She sniffled some more in self-consolation and turned to Maedhros and pulled out her tongue. Childish and stupid. Her way of mocking. Maedhros could expect to be hit but it didn’t happen.

“You’ve upset her quite a lot.” The old man chided. “Come, follow me, you shall have your explanation.”

 

 


End file.
